Finding Humor in Horror
by leejtwilmington
Summary: Pandora. One of the most mysterious and hostile planets in the galaxy. If you find yourself suddenly thrown into the madhouse that it's known for; there's nothing to do but survive, cling to what sanity is left, and enjoy the simple things. Thinking that everything is a game you played before is the fastest way to lose everything—even if you know it's true.
1. Lost Echo Log 1

_AN- Just trying this out for fun. Don't expect much from it. Not sure if I should put this chapter here, or in a different spot, but for now it stays._

* * *

 **LOST ECHO LOG #1**

 _ECHO LOG_

Uncover the history of Pandora!

* * *

JACK: How's my little Angel doing today? You know what I'm going to ask, but I'll say it anyway because I know how much you _love_ hearing my voice. So tell me, are there any new candidates today? Because I'm getting bored sitting here in my office with nothing to do. It's just so... _boring_. How do you do it?

ANGEL: ...Sir, there's one more candidate that you might be interested in. This person is slightly unorthodox, with almost no known information, but recent evidence that came to light suggests he has the potential to be a Vault Hunter.

JACK: Unorthodox? There are enough freaks running around Pandora, just because he's a bit strange doesn't mean he's one of _them_. You're going to have to be a little more specific than that sweetie. Oh, and this better not be another mystery ninja assassin speaking in haikus.

ANGEL: ...

JACK: Alright, fine. I'll play nice, listen to what you have to say, then decide what to do about this "unorthodox" Vault Hunter. So don't get an attitude with me. What _can_ you tell me about him then? Or is he so shrouded in mystery that even you, with your infinite wisdom, powers, and resources, are stumped— _again_? Hey, get this, if this doesn't entertain me then that idiot is going to die and it'll be all _your_ fault. I'll make sure his death will be slow, painful, and with slag poured all over his stupid, unorthodox face! Then, I'm going to feed him to a mama skag and her pups! Oh man, that's going to be a riot to watch!

ANGEL: ...He goes by Shaggoth. His First appearance was 5 years ago, several months after the Vault opened. Found screaming by bandits while covered in large amounts of eridium, half-insane, and clearly delusional. The bandits mistook him as some new type of mutant psycho and attempted to rehabilitate him. Eventually, they got tired of the screaming and tried to kill him.

JACK: Angel, So far this isn't very promising. Are you _trying_ to waste my time? Truly, this is the exploit of the century from an _oh so mighty and feared_ Hunter of the Vault. This isn't sounding like a Vault Hunter at all Angel, so tell me what happened that made you decide to put him as a candidate for the list.

ANGEL: I don't _know_ exactly what happened. All I know is that the event was devastating when it happened. At first, I believed it to be a result of the eridium mining operations, but similar occurrences that happened throughout the years are making me think otherwise. Satellite facilities went down on the south coast for several hours, along with large amounts of incoming ECHOnet data becoming corrupted. Looking back, I noticed that when the systems rebooted back online he, the bandits, and several large chunks of the landscape were just...gone. Only a recent recovering of an ECHO log let me connect it back to him.

JACK: Hmm. Play it.

* * *

 **RECOVERED ECHO LOG**

 _BANDIT HIDEOUT_

The screaming is in my head!

* * *

*Screaming in background*

BANDIT LEADER: Alright, come on guys. It was fun at first, but how many days in a row has our toy been screaming for now? I've had enough of this shit. It's just not fun anymore. For fuck's sake, even Greg doesn't make that much noise when he finds another psycho friend to screech with. It's really starting to freak me out and give me the chilly willies just listening to him. I'm gonna say what I know _everyone_ is thinking. Why don't we just kill him?

GREG: Yes! The voices! The voices are inside me! Ordering me to end and eat the evil magic man! I want his ribcage! A grill of bone would make a fine addition to my humble kitchen appliance collection! It'd make the meat more succulent!

BANDIT LEADER: See, even Greg agrees with me! And half the time I think he doesn't even understand words—or anything normal really. Ahem. So are we all in agreement now? Does that mean nobody is going to complain if I just walk up, put a gun to this loudmouths head, and pull the trigger—like...this?

*Bang*

BANDIT LEADER: Hahaha! Guess not! Take that you asshole! Piss _me_ off with all your screaming? That's what you get! Hey everyone, the screaming finally stopped! Now we can finally—

BANDIT: Hey boss, is twitching like that normal for a dead guy?

BANDIT LEADER: What the hell?

GREG: The meat puppet! It rises on its strings and _it seems from even this situation, we can see that irony is not absent. For we are all small and foolish, mistakenly awakening a being not of this world through our ravenous greed. The actions we have taken damning us, forcing us to acknowledge the deep, dark, and terrifying unknown. Our foolish greed blinded us to the dangers that hid in the dark. This servant of the gods has found another to serve. With cries of SHAGGOTH on our lips, we shall die._

BANDIT LEADER: What the hell is wrong with Greg? Shit, watch out! Q̻̻͉͖ͅụ̡͈̯̘͔̦i̢̪͎̗͠c̶҉̩̦̖͔k̖̝̖͙̟̜͠͞!͈̻̫͍͠ ̶̛͇͇K̢̗͚̖͞i̝̣͈̹̠̫͍͜l̴̠̼l̪̕—͕͇͙̭̝́Ḁ͓̲̫̦͎ͅĢ̶͈͇͔̙͕̰͎̯͡ͅĢ͓̻̥̥̕̕G̷̷̬̯̘͙͈̫̯H̡͍̤H̨̜̤̙͇̀H̯̻͔̠͈͍̲̮͘͟!̧̻̘̤͎̝̯͕͜͠ ̗̲̟͔̭̩̼͟͠ͅ

S̷̳̬̦H̟̭͕́A̜̠̤͉͎̝̟̙͝ͅG̟̣̜͕͉G͕̠̥̙̙͕̫͈͘͢O̱̯͔̺̙̹͈̻͢͞T̵̥̮̩͔͇̮̜͍̝̀H̪̹̞̳̥̻̣ͅ:̹̹̩̹̕͟ͅ ̛̖̮N̨͇̪̭̼ơ̴̫͖͇̦̠͉̞͕̲͘n̺͉̠̬̜̼̲̰͍e̶̛̳̗̮̖̲̭ ͍̫̳ơ͕̺̻̖̹̠̺̘f̶̸̪̟ ͈̰̝t̡̝̼̜̹̞͇̣̩͍͝ḩ̸̖̩̝͈i̡͍̥̜̗̥̩ś̴̰̞̳̜̠̬̤͎ͅ ̢҉͕̠̟c̷̨̜̳̙̯̳̳̱̭a̶̡̢̞̼ͅn̯͈̱̣̻͚ͅ ̨̘̖̝̫̟͍̟͙b̷̶̳̜̯̬̬̥̠͝e̴͔ ̛̘̯̻̼͙͈̮̰̘̀r̶̨̯̳̹̯̻̣e͏҉̵̩̭̙̝͍̰͓̖͎a̼̠̟̥̣̥͝ͅl͏͕̬̬͚̜̟̳!̳͕ ̛̞̮̫͇̪̮͓̻͘Ì̸̤̤͝t̟̠͡'̶̛̘͍͢s̛͏̯͚̹͍̫̻ ̴̵̦͎͠a͉̺̫̥̕ͅl̶̺̞̜̯̫̤͡ḽ͉̖̙͎͍̮͢ ͎̣̱̖̬̝̹͢͝a̳ ̻́̕͡g̵̗̻̝̟a͓̰m̶̩̫͇̺̪͉̩͜e̳͇͇̲͚͟͝!̴̳͍ ̷͉̤̗̱͕͎̮̹A̢͈͎̲̻̲̦̰͡ ̥̖̣̞̺̕g̶̷̹̤̩̀a̷̜̫̳͘m҉̹͎̯̥͔̪͕e̴̩̦͓̥̩̦̥̱͔!̢̣̺̠̪̺͢ͅ Ì͓̘̠̲̹'̠̭͉̩͚͚͔m̴̤̫ ̡̟̩̼͚̹̭͇s̢͍̜̖̰̝o͚̲͞ͅr̼̺̻̱̪̫̕r̸̬ý̝͇̝!̵̷̲͖̙̫͝ I͎͍̺̱͢'͚̣̙̭͡ͅv͢͠͏̜̟̖͈͍̙̥e̶͈̮̝ ͏̸͈̻͔̹g͖̜͉͈̠͓̫͎o̢̙͜ț̞̦̼͉̗̭̱̕ ̵̭̯̻͚̣̳̟̺̫ţ̖̞͎̹̙̩̪o̥͚͓̫͕͍̙͘ ̶͙̝̗̤͕g̩͖̠̳͕̤͈̺͉͡͞e̸̸͎̱̘͚͇ț̞̱̪͓̜͎̦̪͟ ̡͡͏͖̝̹̬̞̹̙̭b̵̰͈̟̻̗̞͡a̧̤͈̩c̶̙̣͓̲͖̣̠͍͖͘k̨̼̯̖͍̪̙͔!̨̧̘̰̗̭̩

* * *

 **MANUFACTURER'S NOTE**

 _MESSAGE TO OUR VALUED CUSTOMER_

The DAHL corporation is regretful to inform you that the remaining [ _131,400_ ] minute(s) of your ECHO recording device has become corrupted, much like our competitors. To help us defend freedom, please bring it to the nearest certified DAHL technician to evaluate the cause so we can best solve the problem—most likely with a stream of highly accurate automatic fire from a reliable DAHL rifle.

 **Reminder** : Any tampering of DAHL property is considered violating and breaching company [ _law/policy_ ]. The offender will be [ _seen/arrested/prosecuted/punished_ ] as a terrorist in the eyes of DAHL law.

* * *

JACK: Interesting...


	2. Start of Something New

_AN- Some context: SI. Magic. Borderlands 2. Lovecraft Inspired. RPG elements later on._

* * *

 **Finding the Humor in Horror**

Chapter 1- The Start of Something New

" _But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travelers notoriously false?_ "- H.P. Lovecraft

* * *

I stared unbelievingly at the accursed object held loosely in my hand; rocked by the implications that I even received the damned thing in the first place. I sucked in a clipped breath, trying to figure out if this was some kind of elaborate ruse playing out at my expense. A glance at the back of the retreating messenger made clear that it wasn't. He was clearly terrified from his brief possession of it, already in a dead sprint to get away. I tracked his frantic movements as he ran, wondering if it'd be in my best interest to follow suit. _'This shouldn't have happened. I took every precaution, laid low and covered my tracks. I was careful.'_ I blinked slowly, organizing my thoughts and trying to put together what caused this twist of fate. _'Skagdinavia. It's got to be. Going into that madhouse was a mistake,'_ I surmised.

I ran my free hand nervously through my hair; trying to come up with a way to reject this farce of an offer that I knew it was, or of some trick to weasel out of it, but was thoroughly stumped. All I could focus on was that one of the worst things that could happen, did—I was now known. I suspected I was garnering more attention than usual at this bum, middle of nowhere waystation, that something was just slightly different in the stares I received, but foolishly brushed it off as too much paranoia. Too often, the lines of paranoia and insanity blur—lines I'd been skirting since Skagdinavia. I frowned, debating if I'd ever stop regretting that particularly impulsive decision of heroics, then turned my attention towards the object that was causing me anguish.

It was innocuous enough—a plain white, lightly decorated greeting card in which simple words prophesied my doom. It was laced with both a disarmingly adorable picture of a winking orange tabby cat and the words ' _You're purr-ty great!_ ' written underneath in a font that was painful to read. The whole thing was an insultingly obvious ruse to put me at ease. It was a weak attempt to mask the importance of the person who sent it with sheer incredulity. I knew then, that the message was specifically crafted to annoy me. I was a firm believer that to be taken serious, a serious impression must be given. This was a deliberate conflict of my values. If I were a more base man, I might've been insulted by the difference in philosophy and acted rashly, destroying the damn thing before reading the contents. Instead, I held the vile greeting card a fair length away from my vitals, wary of a trap.

I held the card up, carefully looking it over. I wasn't sensing anything overtly dangerous from it; so against my better judgment, I decided to read it properly to make sure it wasn't some sort of mistake. I gingerly opened the card and looked on in horror at the barely legible handwriting. Another specifically-crafted barb at my patience. It would've been decisively easier to type the message out—more professional too. With trepidation, I began reading.

 _Handsome Jack here!_

 _Greetings, unregistered Vault Hunter known as Shoggath! Hyperion Corporation formally invites you to join the winning team and all that other good stuff! Now, I know you're the private sort, but I need more hard workers like you, but more importantly people who will watch my back. Because of that, I'm willing to make some concessions and take you on as an independent contractor—overlooking any past crimes committed._

 _If you're interested, the base of operations is in [Northwest Coast Section: Quadrant N40C 12o 21e]. I've arranged transportation for you tonight. Be on the last Northbound train leaving that joke of a Waystation. If you aren't interested in my offer, then I can arrange something much more personal to discuss the finer details._

 _P.S. Loved your work in Skagdinavia. Classic Vault Hunter antics._

 _See you soon!_

— _Handsome Jack_

I shivered, a cold feeling of dread running down my spine. Of _course_ it was Skagdinavia. If he was aiming to annoy me, mentioning it would've been the easiest way to go about it. A stifled cough pulled me from my thoughts. I'd been so caught up in what was in front of me that I forgot about everything else. That wasn't like me. I shook my head, refocusing. A quick look around what constituted as a water refill station showed that several people were staring, sizing me up, looking for something only they could see.

I had the sudden urge to snap at them, asking what they were staring at, but stifled it. I didn't like _not_ knowing the cause of something, and this was decidedly different than what I was used to. I'd been in the middle of filling several canteens from the leaky pipes when the messenger came running up, causing a scene and drawing attention, but there was something _more_ to the stares I could feel. I wasn't going to label it as simple paranoia this time. I focused in on the feeling and sensed traces of latent danger in the air. It hadn't fully formed yet, but it was slowly growing and moulding, taking shape. I cast looks around for the cause with discreet glances out of the corners of my eyes, while waiting for the canteens to slowly fill. The majority of the people scattered around seemed casual enough in their posture, feigning indifference with light conversation, canteen filling, and posturing. Several people stood out to me, showing minute tells when I scanned the crowd, giving the ruse away. I quickly picked out the five people who were going to cause trouble with practiced ease.

Them being in the same spot I received the message from Handsome Jack was planned. I was sure of it, just not sure how it came to be. The problematic five did a poor job of setting up the ambush, placing themselves in each others crossfire and giving me multiple blind spots to take advantage of. I mentally lowered their threat level down to somewhere around a tailless Varkid. I looked them over, unimpressed. _'Either fresh bounty hunters or new bandits. Low quality and neglected firearms have me guessing bandits. Only people who loot guns from the dead neglect them to that extent. So not dangerous. Though they aren't that dangerous, I've got to remember that others can track me down now. If Jack could do it, that means others will soon follow,'_ I brushed the thought off to focus on the immediate threat, not some vague, future assassins.

Several settlers were nervously fingering holstered weapons, aware of the tense atmosphere, but unaware of the cause. The ambushers had firm, practiced grips on their rifles and pistols. One of the bandit's had a freshly painted and washed buzzsaw strapped to their side, which was the most cared for equipment out of the bunch. He was twitching, eager to rush in and attack. His anger was barely restrained, poised as if hoping for the command to spring the ambush. The latent danger was particularly heavy around him, seeping into the air. Despite the buzzsaw, there was no easy way for the civilians to know that these individuals were maskless bandits at their Waystation, further complicating matters.

I took stock of the situation, not liking what I saw. _'I really don't want to deal with this right now. A fight in the middle of town is a tactical nightmare. Also, the civilians might think I somehow started it and help the bandits out. Fuck, I don't need to draw any more attention than I already have.'_ I desperately tried coming up with a plan on the spot. Several seconds passed with nothing coming to light. The buzzsaw bandit lovingly ran his hand down the shaft of his axe, licking his lips and eyeing me dangerously.

' _Yeah, fuck this,'_ I decided.

I needed to be somehow _out_ of this cliche scenario and go somewhere quiet, away from the stares, and particularly far from the psycho bandit. Somewhere that I could clear my head and think clearly about what I was going to do with the offer Handsome Jack presented. With how off-center I was feeling, something nasty and unpredictable could happen if I wasn't careful. It seemed that Jack had a knack for getting on people's nerves, because I wasn't usually this off balance or unhinged.

I let out a disgruntled grunt, realizing that there was no easy, mundane way out that wouldn't end poorly. I resolved myself to less mundane means, feeling trepidation build. A pathetic ambush is still an ambush—one that I was thoroughly stuck in. If I ran away, they'd give chase and harass me. If I fought, it'd most likely only escalate like it always does.

Somehow, Jack was behind this.

For a split second, I was struck with a feeling of unnatural vindictiveness towards the pests that were annoying me. That they were beneath me, not worthy of my time. _'Why should I care about what happens to them anyway? They're just bandits and a couple civilians in the way of my goal. Accidents happen on Pandora all the time, it's not like one destroyed waystation would even make the news. If I took Jack's offer to become a Vault Hunter, I'd be out of here before tomorrow comes with absolutely no repercussions. I'm free to do whatever I want here.'_ I blinked, taking a mental step back upon realizing where my thoughts were straying.

I cautiously reached inwards towards my core, directing what little focus I could towards what was housed there. To me, my focus was a thin line that I could direct, using it to interact with anything _other_. A familiar roiling sensation sat deep within the pit of my stomach, churning as it realized it was being observed. Suddenly, it lurched towards me eagerly as I focused in on the strange sensation, grabbing towards my focus. I mentally backed off, letting it strain against itself in its effort to get to me and tire itself out. The sensation was eerily similar to a riptide or an ocean current—power that was dangerous if it caught you unaware, but could be navigated by the right means.

I prodded the sensation to churn further, letting it level out to something more manageable that I could use. It seemed to sense the brewing danger in the air, because it was particularly excited, taking more time than usual to calm. I patiently waited, keeping a mental note on the level of danger from the bandits. When it settled down to a manageable level, I slowly reached out to it again; this time allowing it to greedily latch on and coil around my focus—briefly sharing surface thoughts, feelings, and motivation. My heart picked up as excitement not my own grew within me. Dissonance resonated throughout, spreading the longer I was connected.

I shuddered, quickly pulling away from the connection. I ignored the leached thoughts that didn't have any cohesion or reason to them, instead trying to calm my nerves. It was tempting to puzzle the strange thoughts out, but I was reasonably sure focusing on them would lead to madness. I gave it time to absorb what was shared, then prodded it for it's attention again. I got the vague impression of its attention turning towards me, a curious feeling bleeding over. Interacting with it always felt _wrong_ on a deep, base level.

I paused, taking a second to contemplate if I was making the wrong choice in using the power. While this was something that I usually avoided doing, I needed it to get out of this unwanted situation. I didn't particularly hate it, but it made me distinctly uncomfortable each time I found myself relying on it—which seemed to be more often these days.

I took a centering breath, channeled my intent inwards, and _pulled_. Power tore out from within me from somewhere _other_ , spreading upwards into my body. In its wake, the sensations of intense cold, harrowing isolation, and immense pressure remained where it touched. For a brief second, I was locked in trying to comprehend the gripping sensations, intimately aware of exactly where it touched. A beat later, I regained my focus, cutting the flow of power off from the source. The strange sensations vanished, allowing me to regain my bearing. The small amount of power inching through my veins promised near-limitless possibilities.

I let out a raspy breath, feeling decidedly thirsty. I instigated a quick twitch of power to make sure I remembered how it worked, then everything settled. I looked at the card held in my hand, struck by a sudden urge. I absentmindedly tore it to shreds, scattering the remains wildly into the air. The latent danger in the air took hold, solidifying. Somehow, I knew that this was Jack's fault. I threw on my red hood and mentally braced myself. The danger spiked.

My focus intertwined with power and snapped outwards, away from me. I distantly became aware that all of several seconds had passed in real time, though it always felt much longer with internal interaction. An unseen signal passed between the bandits, who were starting to draw their weapons. I lightly drew upon my own weapon: slowly, uncomfortably, and meticulously channeling the power towards the base of my throat. The power moved at a crawl, taking its time as if wanting to do something else. Eventually, it made its to way there and settled down, buzzing slightly in anticipation and tickling at my senses.

" _ **let ya epgoka**_ _,_ _ **"**_ I uttered in a weak, superficial incantation. My voice guttural and intertwined with power, the foreign words coming out naturally with no complications. The meaning behind them translating through somehow.

The thugs observing me became visibly stunned, taking their hands off the shoddy weapons for a few brief seconds as they looked around confused. The residents were better off, only staring blankly into nothingness for several seconds. However, I wasn't focused on them anymore, they were now dealt with. I was already moving away from the situation, ushering the remnants of power back into the pit of my stomach, rubbing at my now raw throat. I stuffed the half-filled canteens deep into the pockets of my inner red robe, adjusting the Skag leather jacket back to covering up the conspicuous clothing.

I let out a sigh of relief as I left the water refill station, enjoying the lack of tension in the air. I had hope the bandits wouldn't act again until they came up with another, better plan since they lost this opportunity. Hopefully, they were thoroughly spooked and I'd be gone before that time came around. Still, I only felt marginally better after destroying the mocking card, I needed something more substantial. A quick, internal debate about what to do next had me pointedly set off in the direction of the local bar, eager for a heavy drink.

I stomped down the street in a testy mood, idly wondering if Handsome Jack knew what I'd been up to ever since arriving on Pandora, or if he was just playing head games, trying to pressure me into deciding with a bluff and show my hand. I doubted he knew the true extent of everything. My situation was bizarre no matter which way it was looked at.

Either way, if he knew or didn't, the implication was clear—get on the train or be hunted down like a dog at a later date. I was surprised to even receive what constituted as a warning in the first place. I might be becoming slightly jaded because it was an awfully pleasant change of pace to receive a warning _before_ getting shot in the back.

Knowing Jack, the message was most likely his way of gloating that he'd found me instead of a warning. His way of stroking his own massive ego by rubbing his success in my face, trying to annoy me. ' _Then again, I can't really blame him for it. He deserves some villainous credit where it's due. He did what I thought was near impossible. After all, I'd been specifically trying to stay out of his sight. He still found me, even though I made it as hard as I could for him. I guess it just wasn't enough.'_

That thought turned my mood sour, quickening my steps. I was _known._ No matter how little I was known, I was still ambiguously _known._ That new concept made me uneasy. It even seemed to manifest itself here at the openly stared at me as I made my way towards the bar.

"What are you all looking at?" I called out.

The onlookers quickly averted their gaze, leaving my question unanswered. There were whispers of _'Handsome Jack'_ and _'message to a Vault Hunter'_ scattered between groups that tickled at my senses. people hurried off, stepping inside any nearby buildings, out of the street. _'Damn, I actual want to know what it was. Did they somehow know about me beforehand, or was it just my red hood? They don't look like they want to answer anything from me though,'_ I frowned, unused to this reaction.

In the more civilized areas of Pandora, there would've been only quick, distrustful glances and no greater interest shown. In the less civil, barbaric feats weren't uncommon—especially towards strangers. Pandoran residents were by no means pushovers, but something in my expression cowed them enough to find other things to occupy their time.

It seemed I wasn't as paranoid as I initially thought then. I really was drawing more attention than usual. Somehow, everyone knew about the letter before I received it—meaning it must've been announced in a Waystation broadcast that a Vault Hunter arrived. That answered my question of how Jack was involved. I hadn't been here for a full day yet, but considering that the days on Pandora were slightly more than ninety hours, that was plenty of time for word to spread. The bandits must've bribed the messenger to deliver it at that location then. I cursed the technology that let news travel ridiculously fast. The ECHOnet, while incredibly and unfairly useful, was heavily monitored by Jack. I was now under that same scrutiny.

Several people behind me started murmuring when they thought I was out of earshot, grouping together and discussing something. My curiosity was peaked. In response to my curiosity, the slight remnants of power lingering inside shifted, letting me listen in. The world took on a clear tint, becoming easier to understand and making it child's play to pick up on the nuances of what was being said. It seemed that the locals were an unnaturally gossipy sort. As I listened in, I made out that the residents were extremely interested in a nobody that received a message from _the_ Handsome Jack. Not an ECHO recording, but a _personal_ , _handwritten_ message. I rolled my eyes at that, quickly losing interest and continuing on.

I walked briskly through the makeshift town, keeping an eye out for the local bar and trouble, anticipating more ahead. I figured it'd be some time before the bandits regrouped and made their move, but until then, I would enjoy what little free time I had left. If I decided to take Jack's offer, there'd be precious few of those left.

* * *

It took me several minutes, but eventually I spotted my destination—a rundown, boarded up bar sitting at the end of a gutter alley called _The Skag Nest_. It looked as vile as it sounded. The alleyway was littered with trash, glass, questionable stains, and bullet casings. Sporadic bullet holes adorned the walls, alluding to several drunken gunfights. Large looking scaled rats with bifurcated jaws hissed at me as I walked past. A _Dr. Zed's Meds_ vending machine was pushed up beside the entrance, occupied by a vagrant too drunk to properly operate it. Aside from looking entirely uncared for, the bar didn't seem that bad. It was evening, and the place didn't sound particularly rowdy, so it most likely wasn't a bandit hotspot. It was exactly what I needed.

I let down my hood, brushing aside black hair, and mentally composed myself. Then, I took a deep breath, threw the door open, and boldly walked in before I could change my mind. A sad tune playing from a cobbled together jukebox met my ears. My eyes darted towards it, then over the rest of the establishment. The jukebox was made from the spare parts of a CL4P-TP unit, bringing a smile to my face. I couldn't put a name to the song, but it sounded familiar. Besides several odd knick-knacks, the bar was mainly decorated with Skag skulls of various sizes lining the walls. It was by no means a large room—most of the tables were pushed close together and the bar only had room for three people to sit at. The tables, chairs, and barstools were all made from cheap, second-rate plastic that looked extremely uncomfortable. The atmosphere was relaxed and at ease, but quickly began turning tense as I took in the room. Most of the conversation died as the customers turned to see who came in, sensing that something was going on. Suddenly, the music cut off.

I smiled, flashing my teeth.

A patron sputtered their drink onto the unfortunate person sitting beside them, earning a glare in response. Normally at shady bars like this, a fight would break out over something less trivial than that, but it seemed that my presence was more interesting to them than a fight. It seemed that I suddenly had a reputation, something that I wasn't used to. Conversation slowly started back up, though nowhere near what it'd been before.

A burly, red-haired man straightened up behind the bar. He slicked his bushy hair back, adjusted his leather coveralls, and turned beady grey eyes towards me. I didn't miss the way his focus flicked towards the shotgun propped on the wall behind the bar, or the way he nodded towards several customers resting their hands on weapons.

"What can I get you, Vault Hunter?" He cheerily asked. His voice and tone were shaky but friendly. His posture open and approachable. He was looking me directly in the eyes while shaking in his boots. I was impressed. It was almost as if he was trying to treat me as a simple, regular customer. It was suspicious.

I stared at him, smile still plastered on my face. Several seconds later and sweat was openly visible on his face. I considered it amazing that the most effective way to unnerve Pandora residents was to _smile_ at them. Very few people smiled on Pandora. The ones who did were usually the most dangerous. Several more seconds later and I eased up on the pressure, putting on a more neutral expression. The man hadn't outright bolted or opened fire on me when he was obviously on edge with raw nerves—making him alright in my books.

"What's the strongest thing you have?" I questioned back, ignoring the Vault Hunter comment. I hadn't decided on that yet, even if it was at least partially true.

He blinked, caught slightly off guard. Then mulled it over for several seconds. "Depends, which spectrum of the PH scale you want," he mused with a curling grin, letting out a shaky breath seeing that I wasn't here to cause trouble. I rolled my eyes, but still wondered if alcohol could even be acidic or alkaline. "If you want something that will put you on your ass without killing you, we got moonshine. No promises on if it will blind you or not. But if you want something that will put you on your ass for days, I've got a custom brew called _Skagg Piss_." He said it jokingly, almost in an off-hand manner, and was already reaching for the mason jar of moonshine. I spotted the custom brew on the top shelf above the bar. It was a dark, yellow liquid inside of a green sack put prominently on display.

I gagged at the sight of it, eyes widening. Skags were one of the most disgusting creatures on this planet, able to live on their _own_ feces for _months_ , and here was a drink claiming to be _worse_ than that. Skags couldn't survive off of urophagia. Suddenly the PH scale comment didn't seem like that much of a joke anymore. I frowned, debating the merits.

I needed to think about the offer Handsome Jack gave me—especially the chain of events that it would lead to. Thinking about it would be much easier over a drink. Deciding would be easy while I was _in_ my drinks. _Skagg Piss_ sounded like a horrible, awful drink. It would probably taste _worse_ than awful. It seemed more like something a pure bred Pandoran anomaly would crave. It sounded like an extremely bad decision. Probably one of the worst ones that I could currently make. Much worse than deciding if I should get on the train or not.

"I'll take two," I replied calmly, taking a seat at the bar counter. I then placed several dollars and my Jakobs revolver on the table. _'Time to see how much of a reputation Vault Hunters have here,'_ I warily thought, deciding to take a gamble. My hand lingered on the wooden handle with the barrel pointed towards the bartender. I then leaned over the bar, into his personal space, close enough to cause discomfort. "But if I find out this is some kind of joke, and it's _actually_ Skag piss, I'm not going to find it very funny," I hissed at him.

I felt slightly guilty watching the bartender pale, but me keeping a bad day going worse took precedence over his sense of security. If I drank actual Skag urine, then I'd be downright murderous. His reaction was a bit more severe than I was expecting, because I didn't put much stock into intimidation actually working. Guns were commonplace in the near-lawless lands of Pandora, so common that this probably wasn't the first time one was pointed at him _today_. The Pandoran philosophy was that guns were only as dangerous as the person looking down its barrel. I was too used to being anonymous. Too used to being questioned. I was fully expecting to bribe him, not scare the answers out.

"Of c-course not. I wouldn't d-do that to a Vault Hunter, I s-swear! It's a type of Varkid venom! I u-used Varkid venom to ferment it! H-Happy? It'll get you out of your mind drunk, but it might be a _little_ bit poisonous. Are y-you sure you still want it?" He managed to stammer out, eyeing the gun nervously.

I nodded gravely, then pulled out a little red vial, showing him that I was serious. The health kit should deal with any side effects caused by heavy drinking, but it wouldn't burn the alcohol out of my system entirely.

"Oh fuck, you're serious. Yeah, give me a minute to get everything straight." The bartender looked at me unbelievingly for several seconds, then set to work: pulling out a stepladder from underneath the bar, grabbing the container of _Skagg Piss_ , and pouring two drinks. He then deftly grabbed my money, not bothering to count it, and poured _himself_ a drink. I looked around the room, unsurprised to find it quiet with nearly everyone staring at me.

They quickly looked away, returning to previous conversations, acting as if they weren't leaning on my every word. I reveled in it. _This_ was my element. I knew that Vault Hunters were a big deal on Pandora, but I've never experienced just _what_ that meant. It was slightly different than what I was used to, with people seeming to alternate between fear and worship, but I could manage. The ambient bar noise started up again, but it was glaringly obvious that the other customers were watching the proceedings intently.

' _Time to give them a show,'_ I thought, a grin tugging at my lips.

I eased towards the glasses, putting my face eye level with them. The dark yellow liquid was sizzling, almost bubbling. I sniffed, catching a strong whiff of something acidic, then wrinkled my nose to get the sting out. I cautiously put a finger in one of the glasses, happy to find that it didn't melt off. The Varkid venom must've been offset somehow. My finger stung, but other than being slightly red it was perfectly fine. I wanted to ask the bartender how he managed it, but didn't want to shatter the illusion that manifested around me from the audience's expectations.

"So, does this have anything to do with the message you received earlier today, Vault Hunter?" The bartender asked innocently, making me question how long the bandits delayed the message for. "You've got the entire town in a buzz. You see, it's not every day that anything special goes down all the way out here, especially something with The Companies getting involved." I shot him an incredulous look, wondering if he had any tact at all. The ambient noise and conversations in the bar died down—again.

I shrugged, slightly put off with the sudden shift. "Not really," I neutrally replied. I had to be careful here, play the role of an established Vault Hunter that the group expected me to be. There was also no doubt that the conversation was being monitored by Jack now that he'd found me. "Just enjoying my time off before I decide to head out again."

I knew that there was nothing recent that Jack could connect back to me, so this offer of his must be more of a speculation that I'm a Vault Hunter. With that thought, I took my still stinging finger and plopped it in my mouth. I stilled myself from reeling, composing myself forcibly. The taste of incredibly powerful alcohol filled my mouth, almost making me gag. The burning made my eyes water, but I blinked them away.

' _Wow, this has a good kick to it,'_ I noted. My vision swam as I sat wobbling on the stool. I wasn't necessarily drunk off that small amount, but the Varkid venom in the drink was forcing a similar reaction from my body. It'd only get worse the more I ingested.

"What did Handsome Jack want? The big man on Helios doesn't just send out random letters to anybody, so it must've been about something awfully special." The bartender pressed for more answers. I frowned, starting to get slightly annoyed at the questions. That was awfully forward of him. But I recognized when someone wanted something. I'd play along for now.

I looked up, stretched, and took my time answering. The silence was so thick in the room that I easily heard my joints pop. "He wanted to hire me, said he had a specific job in mind. Wants me to head out tonight." I answered simply, shrugging and feigning indifference. Acting for all the world that getting messaged by _the_ Handsome Jack wasn't a big deal. Handsome Jack was known to recruit Vault Hunters ever since he showed up on Pandora. Even more so than usual lately. There were even recent rumors that he managed to hire a siren, one of the reasons I didn't reject the offer.

The red-haired man leaned towards me, an eager look in his eyes. "So, if Handsome Jack wanted to hire you, then you've got to help us. Do you think you could do something small for the town before you leave?" He asked, a tilt to his voice that I had a hard time describing. "It would be an easy matter for someone like you."

It almost sounded like a sense of hope, maybe with some relief mixed in. For sure, it was a pleading tone. It had the effect of worming its way inside of me with how _genuine_ it was. Genuine wasn't something that happened on Pandora often. I briefly wondered if this proposition had to do with him thinking I was a Vault Hunter. Still, I had a vague idea about what his problem was—it most likely related to the thugs that I got away from earlier. It hadn't even been fifteen minutes since being harassed by them.

"Bandit problem?" I guessed.

Looking at the surprised expression on his face, I knew I was spot on. His eyebrows shot up, eyes went wide, and he looked around at the other customers as if they heard it too. It wasn't that surprising though, bandits were always going to be a problem.

The massive influx of DAHL prisoners that were sent to the planet years ago to mine iridium were left behind when DAHL couldn't support the residents. Because of that, bandits seemed to almost be everywhere, causing problems wherever they popped up. At this point, they were practically considered native wildlife. Too often, everything seemed like a game because the residents didn't take a more proactive approach, content to idle like actual NPC's behind walls and in towns, letting animals and bandits roam free. It wasn't true for everyone on the planet, only the vast majority. Now, there was even the classic bartender asking me for a favor. If I had an ECHO device on me, I wouldn't be surprised if the details for the quest showed up. Those things were amazing.

Over the years, I learned that when people realize you're competent, there would always be more 'favors' for you to complete. Favors with rewards once they're completed—essentially quests. It'd keep piling up and escalating until you suddenly find yourself in a madhouse. It'd happen before, and if I took Handsome Jack's offer—it'd happen again.

I froze, thoughts racing. Was _that_ how Jack planned to annoy me? To make sure that _everywhere_ I visited, _everyone_ knew I was a Vault Hunter. I wouldn't put it past him, in the message he noted how much I liked anonymity. If that happened, that'd mean I'd be forever plagued with requests like these, to go on endless quests, to always be targeted. Searching isn't done efficiently when everyone knows that you're looking for something like the Vaults. Being a Vault Hunter means information that would've been given away freely—or at a small price—would now be withheld for favors, opposition would form to stop your progress in searching, and bandits would make plans to rob you at every corner for everything you own.

Yeah, it'd be nothing but a madhouse.

"How'd you know that it was going to be bandits? There's no territory markings anywhere around town or any nearby bandit camps. Hell, I don't think I've heard a single gunshot all day." The bartender asked, dragging me from my bleak thoughts. He had an impressed tone of voice. It bothered me that I couldn't tell. I blamed it on the bushy red eyebrows that were up to his hairline were distracting me.

"Why, nothing other than Magic," I replied absentmindedly.

He looked put off but continued explaining his dilemma anyways. "The bandits at the waystation haven't formed into a big group yet, but have been getting bolder recently. From what we can make out from the witnesses of muggings and robberies, there's only a small few of them and they're small time. If they hadn't of been so sneaky, we could've easily taken care of them before they became a problem," He said. Out of the corner of my eyes I noticed several customers nodding along, some of them were grimacing, fiddling with their holstered weapons. "Problem is, they allied themselves with another, bigger group from out of town. A revenge pact," He laid out, leaving it at that.

"I see. That _is_ quite the dilemma you're in. Give me a minute to think about it," I hummed, holding up a finger. I then placed the digit on the rim of the glass, running it around the edges and eliciting a shrill sound. He winced, but I quickly put him, and the rest of the group out of mind.

I knew that revenge pacts were nasty, bloody business. If one group in the pact gets wiped out, the others would relentlessly attack the culprit. Sometimes, that would lead to a chain of revenge pacts being set off. Then, if the problem got big enough, Bandit Warlords would turn their attention to that area and do what bandits did best until everything was a fine paste.

Usually, revenge pacts only applied to bandit groups, small towns, or isolated areas like this; but in rare cases, it could be tacked onto an individual—if they were famous enough. In fact, the pact currently gaining the most ground on Pandora was the Victims of Vault Hunters blood pact, offering good incentives to join forces to wipe out Vault Hunters. They were mainly situated off-world, but they'd occasionally send in task forces. Several times they made the news—usually because they were slaughtered almost as soon as they touched the planet.

These people saw an opportunity in me, a supposed Vault Hunter wandering through. Never mind that they had no idea who I was or what my capabilities were, they were simply trying to take advantage of me. I doubted they even knew my _name_. They would just tell the bandits that a Vault Hunter wandering through took out all the local ones, and then give them my description. If I took care of their bandit problem it'd paint a target on my back—a target that would soon be far away from their precious waystation. It seemed so simple when looked at it like that. Nevermind everything that could go wrong.

"What would I get out of it?" I asked, toying with the idea. I idly wondered if I could take care of these bandits completely hammered. It'd be a serious handicap, but I wasn't interested in the challenge of it. I just wanted to get drunk.

"Whatever you want from the bar and five hundred dollars on top of that," He stated almost immediately, making me wonder if there wasn't already a bounty on the bandit group. If there was, it was either incredibly small, or I was getting scammed. I whistled appreciably, trying to seem impressed with the numbers. I doubted it came off as genuine. Murder came cheap on pandora. This was only going to be a hundred dollars a head. Some bounties were in the _billions_. I thought about it, then decided to go along with it. I'd need to get used to it if I was going to take Jack's offer.

"Rest of the _Skagg Piss_ ," I decided immediately. The stuff was vile, no doubt about that, but interesting considering the offset Varkid venom. It interested me just enough to make it seem worthwhile if I did decide to help them with their problem. I wanted to figure it out and maybe try to replicate it. Maybe there'd be a book about it laying around. "And let me see any books that you have around here. Then I'll do it." I finished, hoping that nothing went wrong.

At my declaration of wanting _books_ the man seemed truly put off, opening his mouth several times, but failing to say anything. For several seconds, he did his best impression of a fish, torn between bothering me to satisfy his curiosity, and compliance. Then, he seemed to give up on whatever he was thinking, eventually settling on nodding confusedly, the question of _why books_ easy to read on his face. I ignored the unasked question—if he wanted to know that bad he'd have asked. Apparently, it seemed that me wanting books was more surprising to him than my claim of using magic.

I sighed, used to the reaction, then turned back to my drinks. The bartender seemed satisfied and finished with the conversation, focusing on the other patrons in the bar, leaving me to my thoughts. Several eyes were still on me, but there was no malicious intent behind them, just hope. Either hope that I'd help them, or hope that their problem would go away. Either way, if I helped them, they'd get what they wanted.

I idly lifted the glass up, staring at the sizzling drink, preparing myself for the impact. I toyed with the red health vial on the counter with my other hand, wondering if this really was what I wanted.

' _What did I want?'_ The thought resonated throughout me, upsetting my balance and throwing off my focus. I stared at the drink as if it could supply me the answers. My stomach churned, but not from the alcohol. A simple bandit extermination quest was throwing me off this much, making me question what I wanted when it'd always been at the front of my mind.

What I wanted now was to get drunk. I wasn't going to lie to myself and say that I wasn't going to get on that train. I _knew_ what was going to happen if I accepted Jack's offer. Because of that, I didn't want to be sober for it. The way I saw it, the opportunities I'd gain helping the other Vault Hunters would undoubtedly be better than anything I could scrounge up myself. It'd be a mutual helping, something that I needed. I'd been doing fine on my own, but have been hit by more and more stonewalls since Skagdinavia. Avoiding unfavorable situations was hard when they seemed to be everywhere. Staying anonymous had only gotten me this far, with practically nothing to show for it. It was the reason that I was here in the middle of nowhere and not leading expeditions to find answers I wanted myself. It'd be easier with several highly trained badasses helping me look for what I wanted.

After all, it hadn't changed ever since I came to Pandora—to find a way home.

I grimaced, thinking back to how such a simple thing could become so complicated, quickly convoluting into something so much bigger than I could deal with. The thought bringing back memories better left forgotten. I braced myself, eyed the drink in my hand, then threw back the entire thing in one go. It burned all the way down, stinging as it settled in my stomach, then threatening to come back up. A pained look crossed my face, then I eased the tip of the health vial open before things got too hazy, inserting the needle and releasing the contents. A sigh escaped me as I felt the medical liquid course through me, easing the burning sensation that was spreading almost immediately.

There really was no rest for the wicked—or anyone—on Pandora.


End file.
